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Dorian frowned. “No! Mine only has a single makeup table and chair!”
I smiled sweetly. “Too bad for you.”
Atkins intercepted me halfway to my room. “There you are.”
“Any luck?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Ryan’s been searching the catwalks and sub-stage. I even had Andy start watching the security tapes in between running the lighting and sound boards. There’s no sign of anything unusual. Although it’s tough to tell with so many people running around.” Atkins glanced at a stage hand who jogged by with a cardboard cutout of a tree in his hands. “Half these guys I haven’t seen before today. How do you feel?”
“I feel great,” I said. “A little sweaty from all the routines…”
“I mean, how do you feel about your safety?” he clarified. “It’s not affecting you at all, is it?”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “Honestly, I feel much safer than I expected. Knowing that you and Ryan—and Andy!—are monitoring things has helped me focus on what really matters: the show.”
Atkins looked skeptical, but bobbed his head. “Alright. Rest up while you can. You have three straight songs to start the second half.”
“This may surprise you,” I said teasingly, “but I know which songs I have and when they are. We’ve been trying this neat new thing called rehearsing.”
“Very funny,” he said dryly. Then he opened my dressing room door and poked his head inside. “Alright, looks clear. We’ll knock on your door for the five-minute warning.” He patted my arm. “You’re owning that stage. I’m proud to have you as the lead.”
I was glad when he walked away because it meant he couldn’t see the tears threatening in the corners of my eyes.
When the door closed behind me in my dressing room, I realized that I didn’t feel comfortable being alone. After all the running around, the intensely bright lights, and the loud music and singing, it was alarmingly peaceful in my room.
I turned the deadbolt on the door, then glanced at the ceiling. There was only a single air vent in the corner, too small for someone to crawl through. I should be safe in here.
Unless a bomb goes off or something.
I shook off the thought and opened the mini-fridge. My fingers wrapped around the first bottle of water, but then I imagined the saboteur injecting poison into the bottle with a syringe and somehow sealing it up. I shifted bottles around and grabbed one from the very back, and made sure the tamper-proof plastic cracked when I opened the top. Even still, I took a testing sip of water before deciding I was safe.
I collapsed into the leather couch, sideways with my head up on one arm. My body sank pleasantly into the cushions, and my muscles began to relax.
The first half of the show was over, and I had done fantastic.
My concerns began to shift in my head. My previous priority was simply surviving the night without any embarrassing screw-ups, but now that I was doing well I aimed my sights higher. I wanted to get a good review in the paper. A glowing review. I wanted to do so well that I had agents and casting directors blowing up my phone for the next week, demanding I audition for new shows for the upcoming season.
I wanted to do well enough to land a spot on Broadway.
Overwhelmed with excitement, I kicked my legs up and down on the couch and giggled. Oh, what a difference the last two hours had made!
I was so preoccupied with such dreams that I didn’t notice the person approaching behind me, raising the gun high in the air and then bringing it down on my head.
59
Nadia
My vision flashed white and I slid off the couch to the ground. Stars ran across my vision no matter how much I blinked. I rolled onto my side, bringing the makeup mirror and chair into view, but everything was blurry. I couldn’t bring any single object into focus.
I experienced the sensation of being dragged across the floor. Toward the corner of the room, and then into the wardrobe closet. It didn’t make any sense because the wardrobe was small, there wasn’t any room for us, but then a hidden door clicked and the back of the wardrobe opened into another, darker room. My attacker dragged me inside and dropped me on the ground, hitting my head another time. The cold concrete pressed against my cheeks as I watched a figure in a black hoodie lean inside the secret entrance to my wardrobe and close the door behind them, so whoever entered my dressing room wouldn’t notice that it had been opened.
I groaned and rolled onto my back. The room was almost completely dark except for the light coming from underneath the wardrobe. The walls were made of black foam in jagged points—soundproofing. This must have been the sound-testing room Andy had told me about. A few boxes were stacked in the corner, and there was a chair against one wall, but otherwise it was empty.
My attacker dragged me by the armpits toward the chair. I was still too groggy to resist or help, and they struggled to pull me up into a seating position in the chair. Then they yanked my arms behind the chair and tied them with rope.
The hooded figure went to the wall by the crates and crouched down. Next to a small trashcan was a lamp. The kind you would find on a bedside table, except it was missing the lampshade, so the direct light was harsh as they turned it on. I turned away, and every time I blinked a white splotch covered my vision where the light had been.
“Who…” I rasped. My thoughts were becoming clearer with every second. “Who are you?”
